


Slip One, Knit Three Together

by LadyShadowphyre



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Dean is a jerk, Gen, Jack is Castiel's Son, Knitting, M/M, Off-screen Character Death, Protective Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester Knits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-28 02:59:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12596632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyShadowphyre/pseuds/LadyShadowphyre
Summary: It was never just a sweater.





	Slip One, Knit Three Together

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the RSCC Round 14 for Sastiel, challenge prompt "crunchy leaves and **candy corn** ".
> 
> The yarn for the sweater is:  
> Palette "Golden Heather": http://d2q9kw5vp0we94.cloudfront.net/Yarn_Color_Detail/24005.jpg  
> Palette "Masala": http://d2q9kw5vp0we94.cloudfront.net/Yarn_Color_Detail/24248.jpg  
> Palette "Merlot Heather": http://d2q9kw5vp0we94.cloudfront.net/Yarn_Color_Detail/24014.jpg

**T** HE SWEATER HAD been Castiel's. That was all Dean had known about it, other than the angel had liked it for some unfathomable reason, even though the big, blocky yellow, orange and brown stripes had made Castiel look like the "Angel of Candy Corn". Castiel had glared at Dean when he said it and informed the hunter sharply that the sweater had been a gift "from someone I admire greatly, and I will not have you disparaging the hard work and skill that went into crafting it simply because you disapprove of the colors." Dean had held up his hands in surrender and said no more, though he couldn't help the snort and eye roll whenever he saw Castiel wearing the thing because seriously. Candy corn sweater.

Sam knew quite a bit more about the sweater than Dean did. Then again, he would have to as he was the one who had made it. After the trials, when his body was still weakened and he hadn't known yet that Gadreel had taken up residence inside him with his brother's connivance, Sam's concern and worry for the newly human and inexplicably absent Castiel had driven him to work out his frustrations more quietly than he might have otherwise. He had learned to knit from Jess, and the idea of letting Dean catch him with knitting paraphernalia was a horrific one even if he'd been able to bring himself to look at a pair of knitting needles, but he wasn't in the right shape to go running until he keeled over in case he really did keel over the way Dean kept expecting him to and he was desperate.

Lebanon had been rather devoid of shops suited to his needs, the nearest one being in Lawrence which he'd prefer not to have to drive out to for this, but the internet was more than able to cover the gap. It was surprisingly easy to get online, place an order of needles and yarn from a reliable supplier, and have it delivered. Smuggling it in past Dean had been another exercise in stealth, and he really wasn't sure at the time how he'd actually done it. In the wake of Gadreel's absence, he'd caught a flash of the angel taking over and using his Grace to conceal the box as they slipped into Sam's room past an oblivious Dean heading for the showers, so he grudgingly supposed the renegade erstwhile Guardian of Eden hadn't completely fucked him over.

The sweater itself was about as basic as it could get: a simple raglan pullover that he worked on a set of interchangeable circular needles from the top down. The colors were chosen almost at random from the mix of differently colored balls he'd purchased along with the needles in a fit of forward planning. Who knew how long he'd be stuck having to take it easy, right? He'd started with yellow initially because it was a warm and cheerful color, and he remembered that Castiel had liked bees and sunflowers. The orange had been chosen after Gadreel had revealed himself, flowing from the place Sam kept his burning rage over the angel's violation of him and Dean's betrayal, the flame-colored stitches of the body coming fast and furious until Castiel found him sobbing angrily over a dropped stitch and so many "dropped" promises. Sam had asked Castiel to choose what color he would switch to once he'd finished crying out his rage and hurt in the angel's arms. The dark red-brushed brown heather was a surprising choice, but even more surprising was the reason Castiel gave for it.

"This is to be the base of the garment, yes? The foundation," Castiel stroked a finger over the yarn, feeling the texture and watching the way the brown and red fibers shifted together. "This color is reminiscent of the Earth, grounding and solid in its brown color, with flares of red from the molten core that warms the Earth from within, nourishing and sustaining." He glanced up at Sam, then back down at the yarn he was stroking. "I like this color."

Sam would have used the brown just for that alone, though he hadn't said so. Instead, he'd taken the brown yarn and knit it carefully onto the end of the sweater. By the time he bound off the hem, he had been much calmer, more grounded, and knitting the sleeves had only cemented that steady calm, which worked in his favor when dealing with Dean showing back up with that Mark on his arm. Sam found himself knitting a lot more after that one, retreating to his room to rest and knit himself into a calmer state, and the sweater had been finished just in time for autumn to roll around. When he had presented the sweater to Castiel with a shy smile and ducked head, the angel had accepted it with an equally shy smile, fingers stroking over the soft brown yarn and nuzzling his face into the yellow and orange. He wore it often, especially around the bunker, and Sam had overheard him telling Dean off for teasing him about it, which had nurtured something warm inside him that had first sparked when Castiel told him nothing was worth losing him.

The first that Jack knew of the sweater was when Sam knocked on the door to his room not long after having settled the Nephilim into it. When Jack let him in, Sam was holding a stack of clothes, the sweater on top of the stack.

"These were your father's... Castiel's," Sam clarified, making Jack feel warm at the older man's tacit acknowledgement of Castiel being his father by choice. "They're probably closer to your size than anything Dean or I have, and wearing clothes passed down to you by a parent is a human tradition, so...."

"Thank you," Jack said, because his mother had taught him manners while he was growing in her. He took the stack of clothes, getting distracted by the brush of softness from the sweater across his arm. "This is nice... what is it?"

"It's a sweater," Sam answered, looking at the garment with an oddly soft expression. "Most angels would probably think it's silly to prefer one item of clothing over another, but if Cas ever admitted to having favorites then that sweater was definitely one of them. He told Dean as much once."

"Wow," Jack murmured, setting the stack of clothes on the bed in order to pick up the sweater and carefully pull it over his head. It was still a little big on him, but it did fit more closely than one of Sam's shirts would have. Jack closed his eyes, stroking the sleeve as he tried to work out why it felt like someone had put their arms around him; his jacket didn't feel like this. "This feels different from the others... Is that because it was his favorite?"

"Could be," Sam said. His cheeks were turning a warmer color that fascinated Jack almost as much as the sweater. "It's, uh, it's also handmade instead of made by machine, so that probably has something to do with it."

"By you," Jack mumbled, finally placing why this garment felt so warm and familiar. He looked up at Sam, eyes wide. "You made this for my father. It was his favorite because you made it and he loved you." Sam's face had gone blank and Jack hesitated, afraid to ask, but the question seemed drawn from him. "Did you love him, the way he loved you?"

"Yeah," Sam admitted quietly. "Yeah, I... loved Cas a lot. We never actually talked about it, never officially got together or became a couple... there always seemed to be something getting in the way of that."

_ Like Lucifer, _ he didn't say, but Jack heard it all the same and felt a wave of shame and anger and pain sweep through him. He looked down, eyes falling on the orange stripe. "I'm sorry."

"Jack, no," Sam protested, stepping closer. His hand lifted, hovering, and then made contact with Jack's shoulder gently. "Nothing about that is your fault. Castiel made the choice to go on the run with your mother and try to protect you, and that was his choice. I might wish he'd talked to me and Dean about it so we could have helped, but..." he trailed off and sighed, then smiled ruefully at Jack as the Nephilim looked up curiously. "He was trying to protect me. Castiel knew better than anyone what... what Lucifer...."

"What he did to you," Jack finished in a subdued tone when it seemed like Sam couldn't force the words out. Sam looked away briefly, but nodded, and Jack looked down. "I'm sorry."

"That's not your fault, either, Jack," Sam said seriously, squeezing Jack's shoulder. "Everything Lucifer did, to me or anyone else, is Lucifer's fault for doing it in the first place. You shoulder no blame for him or anything he did, okay?"

"But... you flinch away from me sometimes because I remind you of Lucifer," Jack said uncertainly.

"And I promise I'm working on not doing that," Sam assured him. He smiled suddenly, looking down pointedly at the sweater Jack was still wearing. "Besides... you're reminding me a lot more of Castiel these days than Lucifer. Remembering that you're his son by choice makes it easier. Just... don't tell Dean I made the sweater, okay?"

"Okay," Jack agreed. He wasn't sure why that was important, but the secret of the sweater's origins almost seemed to add to the warm feelings, like he was really being accepted as Castiel's son by Sam sharing that secret only he and Castiel had known.

"Sam? Hey, Sam, where--" Dean poked his head cautiously into Jack's room without invitation and blinked at the two of them. His face underwent several shifts of emotion before settling on something almost sneering as he caught sight of Jack and the sweater. "Jeez, Sammy, you gave him that thing to wear? I thought you said you didn't hate him!" he said, tone biting. Jack almost flinched, fingers curling into the ribbed cuffs of the sweater's sleeves and drawing strength from the softness and the lingering feelings of love woven through the stitches.

"This was my father's sweater," he said firmly, clenching his hands tighter when those cold green eyes flashed angrily in his direction. He lifted his chin stubbornly, eyes narrowed. "Sam said it was his favorite, and I intend to cherish it the way he did, as a gift of love and kindness from someone who meant a great deal to him."

For a long moment, no one moved or even seemed to breathe as Jack and Dean stared each other down. Through the contact Sam had with his shoulder, Jack caught flashes of all the times the older Winchester had tried to stare down Castiel over the years. The comparison must have occurred to Dean, too, because his expression tightened in pain and he was the one to look away first.

"Yeah, okay," he said at length, making a face like he couldn't believe he was even saying it. "Respect the candy corn sweater. Got it."

Jack nodded, satisfied, and then hesitated as something about what Dean had said prodded his curiosity. "What's candy corn?"

An hour later, as the brothers watched Jack happily devour a large bag of candy corn, Dean leaned over to Sam and asked, deadpan, "You sure the Archangel that sired him wasn't Gabriel?"


End file.
